Kapitonich breathes deeply. He won’t tell her that Giorgi came by to pick her up and is her accomplice. That would be too much; he can’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he says, “Three days ago Aleksandra received a letter. Today a telegram arrived. When you left for the concert, Aleksandra rushed up and down the stairs a few times. I couldn’t tell what was going through her mind…. Then she called me and she said, ‘Mr. Kapitonich, I’m going! I can’t say no! If the mistress doesn’t want me back, I understand, but I can’t not go….’” The hall porter loses his composure again. “She wasn’t even going to cover her head, the poor thing! I insisted….”

Anya considers her reply. She has mixed feelings; she’s angry and upset.

“Did Aleksandra say she’d come back?”

“Yes, yes, mademoiselle, she’ll be back by tomorrow morning, perhaps I shouldn’t have worried you, but … she left some papers for you.” Kapitonich puts them in Anya’s hands. “Mademoiselle Anya … I tried to dissuade her. There was nothing else I could do…. She was wearing summer shoes, Mademoiselle Anya.”

How could she go without permission? She’s forcing Anya to dismiss her. It’s upsetting because … no, she’s not perfect, why exaggerate, but she needs her, and these days good maids are so hard to find…. With a distaste that threatens to mar her judgment, Anya looks at the papers Kapitonich handed her.

One of the pages has a few handwritten lines that Anya reads quickly, standing there, next to the door without her coat. Aleksandra writes (in clear handwriting), “My duty is to find my brother, who left St. Petersburg on the orders of Father Gapon to go to the tsar’s palace to deliver a petition from the workers,” a document that “you will find a copy of herewith.” Since her brother hasn’t returned, she fears for his life: “I must leave to find him: he’s my only living sibling. I hope, Mademoiselle Anya, you will be able to understand. I pray that, in your boundless kindness, you’ll forgive me. I know full well that you forbade me to go out. Please, I beg of you, understand that this is not a whim. I should have explained this all to you myself, but I didn’t want to make you late, knowing that your sister-in-law wanted you to be ready on time.” Etcetera, formalities that the poor girl took a moment to scribble, distraught at the possibility of losing a good job, because they’re few and far between.

The other page is a copy of the letter that Father Gapon wrote to the tsar and sent to Tsarskoye Selo: